


In Flore

by oizys



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Rey (Star Wars), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - High School, Bigotry & Prejudice, Discrimination, Dominant Kylo Ren, Dominant Rey, F/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Ben Solo, Power Imbalance, Submissive Kylo Ren, Submissive Rey (Star Wars), Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oizys/pseuds/oizys
Summary: Ben Solo is a normal eighteen year old beta, until all of a sudden he isn't — and the only person there to (unwillingly) help him is his unpleasant history teacher, Miss Niima, who also just so happens to be a female alpha.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 24
Kudos: 169





	1. one.

There was something off about the air.

Not off as in rotten, but it certainly wasn’t quite right. Ben breathed in through his nose, struggling to place just what it was that was unsettling him so. There was a soft undercurrent that brushed against his senses, warm in his nose and tickling ever so slightly at the back of his throat. It wasn’t that he found the scent unpleasant by any means — but it was like giving a familiar person a hug and finding they had changed their usual perfume without his knowledge. It wasn’t bad, per se, but it was definitely something he caught on to, because it wasn’t normal.

Ben’s eyes watered and the skin under his jaw prickled as he scanned the classroom, lips downturned and eyebrows furrowed. Maybe someone had bought in one of those banned colognes — the ridiculously expensive ones that were meant to mimic pheromones. His already dark mood soured further at the thought. He didn’t have time to explore the possibility further, however, as the bell signalling the end of class rung and the thought was quickly swept from his mind.

“Bring your assignments up to me before you leave,” their history teacher, Miss Niima called out. “—and make sure you finish questions three through to six in the textbook.” She seemed to add on as a half-hearted afterthought, tone dull. The first few students who’d slapped their assignments down onto her desk had already poured out of the classroom and Ben doubted they would have heard her reminder. He swallowed thickly. Miss Niima’s voice was nice, despite the fact she was an alpha woman. Why had he not ever noticed before? Probably because she was always so foul tempered. He dug around in his backpack for his essay, which was already crumpled beyond salvation, and made his way up to her desk.

“What is that, Mister Solo?”

Ben looked up to meet Miss Niima’s disapproving gaze. She gestured vaguely at his essay, which looked like something he had scrounged from the garbage and hastily attempted to smooth out. Her displeasure made him feel guilty.

“Sorry — it got scrunched in my bag.” He muttered, feeling stupid as his too big hands awkwardly flattened the paper on her desk to try and remove the creases. “Sorry.” He repeated once more, unnecessarily.

Miss Niima sighed, looking away and gesturing disinterestedly towards the door in a clear sign for him to leave. Ben’s nose curled as the same smell once more assaulted his senses. Lightly spiced cardamon and clove. Bergamot underlined by sweet florals — neroli, jasmine and rose. The spiced sweetness was balanced by the more centred, earthy base notes of sandalwood and cedar. It was an evocative scent and his mouth flooded with saliva.

Miss Niima’s eye twitched as when she looked back up and saw him still standing there. Ben swayed towards the door, but it was as though his feet were glued to the spot he stood — what the hell? Was he having an allergic reaction, or something? His face felt clammy, throat itching. Miss Niima glared at him and he flinched back. Why was she so unfriendly? Nasty, aggressive alpha woman — they were all like that, or so Ben had heard. Miss Niima was drugged up and repressed, it was no wonder she was such a bitch.

“You don’t look well, Mister Solo. I suggest you visit your doctor.”

Her voice was clear and crisp, like a shot through his hazy and uncharacteristically unpleasant thoughts. A combined wave of confusion and guilt washed through him. What was wrong with him? “Sorry.” He said, deep voice subdued. He still wasn’t moving —

“Go.” Miss Niima said sharply. “And please close the door behind you.” Ben’s mouth parted, his vision swimming for a second.

“I— uh— I, yeah okay. Sorry, I’m sorry.” Ben mumbled as he finally shuffled away. He closed the door behind him and as soon as he was alone in the hallway a wave of bewildered embarrassment washed over him. What the hell was that?!

* * *

Ben had come to the firm conclusion that demi-humans were weird. As an eighteen-year-old beta, watching the presented alphas and omegas around him was perplexing and off-putting. Alpha’s, particularly freshly presented ones, were often brash and overly self-assured. Their instincts demanded that they protect and provide, and excessive possessiveness and peacocking was a common thing to witness. Ben couldn’t even remember the number of times he had watched fights between alphas break out. He had even broken a few up — he had the build of an alpha, which granted him a certain degree of misplaced respect. People assumed his designation and treated him as such, and he rolled with it. Ben wasn’t ashamed to admit he used his imposing figure and the misconceptions people held about him to his advantage, when necessary.

Omegas were easier to deal with than alphas — they were gentler, milder overall and less abrasive to be around. They were natural homemakers that were very much family orientated and thrived in social settings. But they could be needy and whiney, prone to clinging excessively. It was easy to spot an omega simply by watching the way they orientated themselves around others, especially alphas. Omega’s orbited closely, always within reach. They craved contact and attention, and alphas gave both readily.

Then there were heats and ruts. Once every four months, omegas would go into heat. Any alpha that was in close contact with an omega during that time would go into rut. And they would fuck like mindless bunnies until the omegas heat came to its end. An omega in heat was capable of triggering any number of alphas into rut — which was why omegas carefully medicated. It was gross, at least in Ben’s opinion. To be so completely controlled by hormones and instinct and to have so much of your personality dependent on your designation — it was kind of pitiful, really. It took years for Demi-humans to control their instincts and tame them into more manageable traits. Many never fully managed.

“Oi Solo, where were you?”

Hux’s voice was easily recognisable and Ben didn’t even bother looking up from his half-eaten sandwich as he answered:

“Talking to Miss Niima about my essay.”

Hux let out a low whistle as he fell onto the seat beside him. “Did she tear you a new one?”

A beat. “No”

Hux laughed. “You should have seen her rip into Poe last week. Not saying he didn’t deserve it, but man.”

Poe Dameron, star of the school’s football team, was an alpha in every respect except somehow also fifty times more annoying than most. He was one of those alphas that had been plenty obnoxious before presenting and his newfound designation further inflated his ego, to the point that he viewed himself as practically god-like. If there was a poster child for superiority complex, Dameron would have fit the bill.

“What happened?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. We were out on the field training and Miss Niima came in looking for Finn, you know the guy who often volunteers in the cafeteria? Poe commented that there would be no way Finn would be out on the field due to him being gay and all. And then he made a sly dig, you know? Asking her why she was looking for him but very obviously implying she was being predatory. And god—” Hux burst into laughter at the memory “—Miss Niima looked Poe dead in the eyes and said ‘You’re cocky, Dameron. One day a real alpha is going to take offence and rip your throat out.’”

Ben swallowed thickly — he could imagine it all too clearly. Miss Niima, with her sweet voice, delivering thinly veiled threats. It made him feel… proud?

“Poe went white, I swear.” Hux wheezed at the memory. “I’ve never seen him shut up so fast. You gotta give Miss Niima credit — she may be a fucked up female alpha, but a bona fide alpha none the less. Even with all the meds her aura is still killer.”

Ben’s expression twisted at the mention of Miss Niima’s designation. Alpha women were an incredibly rare aberrant designation and there was a great deal of stigma associated with them. Unlike alpha men, alpha women were considered the culmination of the worst of both their sex and designation: flighty, uncontrollable women prone to violent emotional outbursts that were also victim to an alphas control-freak nature. The only way an alpha woman could make it in society was to medicate heavily for her entire life and register on a publicly accessible database, akin to the sex offender list. Only then were they provided government support through funded jobs and housing. There were very few opportunities for alpha women: for those that wished to remain in society, this was the only way.

Then there were Omega men. Omega men were just as rare as alpha women and were viewed in much the same light. Like alpha women, they were made to register themselves and medicate heavily in order to be granted any sort of acceptance by society. From what Ben had heard, they were different to omega women — rather than being family orientated homemakers, omega men were manipulative, needy, and possessed by a single-minded desire to possess an alpha woman that bordered on predatory. Once in contact with an alpha woman, an omega man would stop at nothing to mate them, which was ironic because alpha women were by nature creatures that did not settle. It was in an omega man’s nature to crave that which did not wish to be desired and they dedicated themselves to twisting an alpha woman’s natural instincts — the dynamic between the two aberrant designations was complicated and explosive — they were perfect fits for one another in their own twisted way because their instincts demanded it of them.

For those that were an aberrant designation, it seemed there was no dignity in life — only shame and self-denial.

Ben’s thoughts wandered back to Miss Niima. She had started working as a history teacher three years ago when he had been in year nine, but he had never had her as a teacher personally until the start of his current school year. From early gossip he had gathered that she had been given the teaching post through a government funded program specifically for aberrant designations — not that she appeared particularly grateful for it.

She hadn’t been accepted with open arms. When he had first heard an alpha woman had started teaching, he hadn’t believed it. They were so incredibly rare, and she looked nothing like an alpha, anyway. Miss Niima was small and unassuming and never tried to get attention from others the way a normal alpha would have. Her light olive skin was alive with a healthy glow, small face lightly freckled and linear features accentuated by the severe bun she wore her hair up in — she was pretty enough, but plain. It really had been hard to believe she was an alpha, but the metal registration band around her wrist betrayed her and when the first few students had started to act up and test her, she had shut them down quickly and efficiently. Students and staff alike had quickly come to realise she wasn’t one to be crossed.

Ben found it hard to imagine her outside of school — she was always so guarded. Did she have hobbies? Friends? Did she cook? What did she like eating? What did her home look like? Did she have a lover?

Ben flinched away from the thoughts. Since when was it any of his business?

“Hey, are you okay?” Hux’s voice broke Ben from his chain of thought. “You don’t look too good.”

“Miss Niima said the same thing — she told me to visit a doctor.” Ben grumbled into his sandwich. “I do feel a little feverish, I guess. It’s probably just a cold.”

Hux shrugged. “Maybe she’s right.”

Ben huffed. “Nah, I’ll just go home and sleep it off.”

“Whatever. Just don’t go giving anything to me.” Hux sniffed. Ben rolled his eyes, ignoring the lingering discomfort at the back of his throat.

* * *

Ben’s cold cleared up over the weekend. By Sunday evening he didn’t feel clammy or feverish, and his sore throat had gone away. When he woke up Monday morning, he still felt worn down, but he figured it was because his immune system had overexerted itself — he ignored the persisting heaviness in his limbs and dragged himself up and out of bed. By the time he trailed into his third period history class all he wanted to do was lie his head down on the table and sleep. The thought was quickly wiped from his mind, however, when Miss Niima strode into the class.

“I have your marked essays.” She sounded irritable and Ben was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of anxiety. He stared at her — she was wearing a tight grey ribbed turtleneck sweater that accentuated her slender arms. The sweater was tucked into the petite slate coloured chino pants she was wearing, cinched tight at the waist by a caramel brown belt. The hems of her pants were rolled up at her ankles, the brown leather boots she was wearing well cared for and scuff free.

She looked so good, so pretty. Even her ankles were pretty. How had he never noticed before?

Ben flushed red, mortified at his thoughts. As if sensing him, Miss Niima glanced up. Their eyes met and she frowned, irritation seeming to worsen. Ben squirmed miserably — why didn’t she like him? What had he done wrong?

_Go and apologise._

What the fuck? What the fuck? Ben pressed a hand across his brow — he was clammy again. What the hell was he thinking? Why did he have to go apologise? He hadn’t done anything and Miss Niima was always in a bad mood for some reason or another. He wasn’t in the wrong, so he didn’t have to say sorry. His thoughts clanged around in his head, noisy and senseless. Was he getting sick again? Maybe he had overestimated himself and should have just stayed home. The back of his throat began to itch once more.

Miss Niima’s soothing voice was a gentle lull in his ears — she was speaking but he wasn’t able to focus on her words. Then, just like his last history lesson, he began to notice the same undercurrent to the air — the mouthwatering spicy sweetness that seemed to reach into the far corners of his skull and turn his brain to mush. But this time, unlike the first time, it was a hundred times stronger and he seemed to have a far greater reaction to it. He buried his face into his arms, crossed on top of his desk, and willed himself to ignore the tantalising scent. It was torture — the more he tried to pretend he wasn’t smelling anything, the more its potency seemed to grow. He shivered, gooseflesh breaking out across his arms.

“Mister Solo,”

Ben jumped, head snapping up. Miss Niima was standing at the front of the class and all eyes were on him.

“— you don’t look well at all. I recommend you go to sickbay and have a parent or guardian called to pick you up. A doctors visit, I think, may be a good idea.” Her tone hardened when she suggested the doctor for the second time to him.

_That’s why she’s displeased — because you didn’t listen the first time._

“O-okay. Sorry, I’ll go. Sorry.” Ben babbled, lurching up and scrambling to get his belongings. He walked to the front of the class, struggling to ram his notebook into his bag as he made his way up to Miss Niima's desk, and stopped in front of her as she wrote him up a hall pass. Standing so close to her made him acutely aware of just how small she was. His thoughts spun at the proximity. She was right there in front of him — he could grab her. She’d be furious, of course. She’d spit and hiss like a mad cat, but he was big enough to control her. She was so small — one of his hands could probably wrap all the way around her arm, maybe even around her throat. She’d fight him at first, but he’d make her compliant with time. His mouth filled with saliva — Ben shuddered in shock at the bizarre, ugly thoughts whirring through him his face paling when common sense finally caught up. When he looked down, his eyes met Miss Niima’s. Her eyes were dark and unfathomable and guilt warred against the strange, unsavoury thoughts within him as she handed him the hall pass. He couldn’t untangle one emotion from the next and his stomach lurched sickeningly.

Ben rushed out of the classroom without another word, horrified at himself.


	2. two.

Ben did go to the sickbay as he had been instructed, but he didn’t call anyone to pick him up. He had thought about doing it as soon as he arrived but had been overwhelmed by a wave of exhaustion and decided to lie down on one of the crinkly beds — just for a few minutes, he had told himself, then he’d get someone to pick him up. He felt like he had a virus, his neck was aching as though his lymph nodes were swollen and his head felt dull and heavy. The bed looked so inviting, and he felt fatigued beyond description. Just a short rest, for a minute or two...

The moment his head had hit the uncomfortably firm pillow he had passed out, too tired to stay awake a moment longer.

_“Mister Solo.”_

When he woke up, he was in the same position he had first fallen asleep in. It had been a dreamless sleep, dark and blissfully blank and he probably could have slept for longer but he could have sworn he heard Miss Niima’s soothing voice calling his name. Perhaps it had been the start of a dream — Ben still felt exhausted and unwell, but the delicious scent was in the air once more and he felt as though he were being drugged into not caring. Warmth pooled in his stomach and he breathed in deeply, limbs loose as the scent took him. He rolled over, temporary peace cut short abruptly by the sky outside, which was lit up in sunset shades. Ben shot upright, hair mussed and heart pounding. How long had he slept for?! He looked at the clock on the wall — it was close to 5pm.

“Mister Solo.”

Ben twisted so quickly that the joints in his spine made alarming popping sounds. Miss Niima was standing in the doorway, arms crossed across her chest.

“Wuh—? Miss Niima?”

“I went to check that you had called a guardian and gone home but was informed you hadn’t even been to the front office.” She said as a means of explanation.

She didn’t look at all pleased and Ben shrunk into the bed unhappily. “I’m sorry, I fell asleep.”

Miss Niima’s eye twitched. “I’m aware.” She strode into the infirmary and Ben shrunk back further.

“Take this.” She tossed a small square onto the bed beside him. It was a pill still sealed in its non-tamper pocket but quite clearly carefully cut from a blister pack of many more like it. Ben frowned as he examined it. On the foil side he could just make out the printed drug name: MALO-3J

“What is it?” He asked.

“Take it now, Mister Solo.” The command in Miss Niima’s tone was clear and Ben fidgeted with the pill. She was an alpha woman, but surely that didn’t mean she was so fucked up that she’d give a student something harmful... Ben broke the aluminium foil and swallowed the pill dry, stuffing the scrap of blister packet into the pocket of his grey school pants.

“Have someone pick you up now, Mister Solo.” Miss Niima’s said simply as she turned to leave the infirmary. No, no, don’t go, don’t leave.

“I— I can walk home?”

It was meant to be a statement, but it came out a question. Miss Niima turned back for a fraction of a second. “Do what you want.”

And then she was gone, and Ben was left floundering.

* * *

Ben couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so sick and tired. He had managed to stagger home and upstairs to his bedroom, where he had promptly collapsed once more into bed, facedown and still in his school uniform. His mum always worked late and his dad was barely ever home and his house seemed so much bigger and emptier than ever before. Despite the exhaustion, anxiety unfurled inside his brain and began to creep its way through his veins. He felt so unwell and there could be anyone out there — God, what if Miss Niima really had given him poison? His head spun, anxiety worsening. Ben dragged himself out of bed and to his in-built closet, dragging his duvet along the floor with him. He threw open the door and crawled inside, shivering. His chest felt tight, pins and needles prickling along his limbs as he crawled to the corner and wrapped himself in his duvet, burrito like.

_Warm, dark, safe. Good._

There was something important missing, but Ben couldn’t place just what it was. He curled on his side, eyes shut tight as he willed himself to stop shivering — the tightness in his chest had abated somewhat though, thankfully, and sleep came quickly after that.

* * *

Ben woke up still curled on his side, burrito like, and looked around himself in bewilderment. What the hell had possessed him to get into his closet? Feeling foolish and shaking his head, he crawled back out into the fresh morning light that was filtering into his room through the plain white curtains his mother had selected during last year’s renovations. He stood up, tossing his duvet back across his bed, and gave himself a mental once over — he felt a little stiff, but whatever illness had been making him feel so terrible seemed to have worked its way out of his system and he lifted his arms above his head, ignoring the popping of his joints as he stretched.

He looked down at himself, still in his uniform, and frowned. Gross.

“Ben, sweetie, are you up?”

His mother’s voice wafted up the stairs and Ben quickly stuck his head out his bedroom door. She was standing at the bottom of the stairs, rummaging in her work handbag —

“Oh good, you’re up. Just checking.” His mother said upon looking up and seeing him. “Come down here, won’t you?”

Ben made his way down the stairs to the front foyer, where his mother was now fiddling with her black work heels.

“I think I might stay home from school today.” Ben said to her turned back, voice cracking from disuse. “I think I have the flu, or something.”

“Oh, sure honey.” His mother said offhandedly, too focussed on getting on her heels to turn towards him. She paused, head titling and expression twisting abruptly as she glanced towards him. “Have you had an omega over, Ben?”

“What?! No? I’ve been sleeping since I got home from school yesterday.”

She frowned. “Something reeks.”

“I think someone at school might be spraying one of those pheromone colognes. Maybe it’s on my uniform.” Ben offered.

“Well, wash your uniform and take a shower, won’t you? So long as you’re not a male omega, I suppose — your father would probably murder you!” His mother laughed as she reached for her suitcase.

Ben swallowed nervously, unsure why he felt so cold all of a sudden. “Sure mum.”

Her red lipstick glinted as she turned away. “I’m off on my work trip today so I’ll see you this weekend when I get back, okay? Take care of things here.” Before Ben could reply she was gone, heavy front door clicking shut behind her with an odd sense of finality.

“See you soon” Ben said into the empty foyer.

* * *

Ben texted Hux to let him know that he was taking the day off and he received a random assortment of emoji in response. Ben doubted he’d get any sense out of his friend so didn’t bother replying further.

Instead, he decided to take a shower. When he emerged from the steam he felt like a new man — he tossed his crumpled, sweaty uniform into the washing machine and made his way to the kitchen, suddenly aware of just how hungry he was. He rummaged through the freezer and pantry, but nothing appealed. It was all pre-packaged, microwavable meals — he wanted something fresh and homemade, something he knew would be good.

There was bread in the fridge, and eggs. Scrambled eggs would suffice, he decided. Ben wasn’t much of a cook and quickly pulled up a recipe on his phone — seemed simple enough, but he still managed to burn the eggs on the bottom of the pan and in his panic, his toast had burnt. His creation wasn’t particularly pretty, but it tasted good enough, he supposed.

Still, he didn’t feel satisfied. He scrounged around the kitchen once more, tossing aside two-minute noodles and biscuits in his search for something. The fruit bowl on the counter was full of apples, oranges and banana. He returned once more to the pantry — flour, sugar, baking powder — it was all in there, stocked like a store, not that anyone ever used any of it. It was all just for show.

The feeling of dissatisfaction persisted, now tinged with a feeling of uselessness. Maybe he’d make a loaf of bread, dumb as that was. Ben looked up bread recipes on his phoned despite feeling thoroughly depressed.

**7 Bread Recipes Everyone Should Try At Least Once** — Ben opened the page and scrolled down. Basic sourdough, focaccia, banana bread — banana bread! He quickly checked the ingredients list and surmised he had most on hand, sans walnuts to sprinkle on top. He’d make banana bread! Depression forgotten, he began to bustle around the kitchen.

It was only an hour later, dough set it a bread pan and sitting in the oven, that Ben stopped to wonder briefly just why he felt possessed by such a need to suddenly cook. Weird — Ben shook his head, chain of thought disrupted by the beeping of the washing machine down the hall, signalling the end of the wash cycle. He ambled out to the laundry and quickly pulled his still-damp uniform from the machine. He carted it all out to hang and dry.

As he beat the creases out of his shirt before hanging it, a vague bolt of unease shot through him: why did he feel so... off? Thinking about it was making him feel worse, though, so he chased the thought from his mind. He repeated the same process with his pants which he then hung by the legs — something fell out of the pocket and onto the ground by his foot. Ben paused — it was the empty pill pocket cut from the blister pack Miss Niima had given him, which had worked pretty well, he supposed, considering how much better he felt. He bent to pick it and turned it over in his hand as he walked back inside, frowning as he smoothed the foil back to read the drug name once more.

MALO-3J

Ben walked back into the kitchen to briefly check on the banana bread — an hour left to go — and then sat down on one of the high metal stools that lined the bench. Retrieving his phone and pulling up the web browser, Ben quickly typed in the name.

> MALO-3J, yellow, round biconvex, film coated. Engraved “MALO” on one side, “3J” on the other side, is a schedule 4 prescription only drug used for the suppression of male omega hormones. Taken orally and on a 24-hour basis, this medication is verified as being available on the PBS (Pharmaceutical Benefits Scheme) for those registered on the ADL (Aberrant Designation List).

To say that Ben’s stomach felt as though it had just fallen out of his ass would be an understatement. Why the hell was Miss Niima giving him medication for male omega? A horrible icy sensation washed over him — no, oh no. Surely not.

Opening a new tab, Ben quickly typed in a new search query:

> male omega heat symptoms

He didn’t even have to open a page — google had provided him a featured snippet at the top of his screen.

> Male omega and female alpha are incredibly rare aberrant designations, accounting for an estimated 0.02% of the population. Male omega do not often present until in repeated and close proximity to a female alpha. The process is often a drawn out and uncomfortable ordeal.  
> Symptoms include feeling feverish, painful scent glands in the neck, headache, fatigue, hypersensitivity to scent, mental instability and/or intrusive thoughts.

Ben felt as though he were going to have a panic attack. It had to be some sort of horrible mistake — he had just turned eighteen! He was way too old to be presenting. It usually happened at the start of puberty — most kids were figuring out their designations by twelve or thirteen all the way through to about fifteen. Presenting at sixteen was considered the absolute latest, and those that did were viewed as incredibly late bloomers. He couldn’t be an omega. There was no way.

But what if he really was? The suppressant he had been given had worked a charm, which had to mean something in the grand scheme of things. The thought filled him with terror — did that mean he was going to have to register himself on the ADL? It was going to ruin his life — he’d have to medicate until the day he died, he wouldn’t be able to live anywhere unless he got government approval, and getting a job would be next to impossible. Not to mention how horribly the aberrant designations were viewed by society. His mother’s comment from that morning floated to the forefront of his mind.

_So long as you’re not a male omega, I suppose — your father would probably murder you!_

It took Ben several seconds to realise he was hyperventilating. He stood up on shaky legs and went to fetch his laptop from his bedroom, which he opened up on his desk. His fingers flew across the keys and within seconds a website was up on his screen:

> **NATIONAL ABERRANT DESIGNATION LIST**
> 
> The National Aberrant Designation Public Website (NADPW) is an unprecedented public safety resource that provides the public with access to Aberrant Designation data nationwide. NADPW is a partnership between the Department of Justice and state, territorial and tribal governments to provide the public a comprehensive Aberrant Designation List (ADL) for the sake of the safety of all members of the public. 

Beneath that were two search bars:

Search by name, and search by location. Ben didn’t know Miss Niima’s full name, so he searched by location. It wasn’t hard to narrow it down — she was the only registered female alpha in town.

NIIMA, REY — an oddly pretty first name — he clicked her profile and was startled by the mug-shot style photo he was greeted by on the far left of the page. Miss Niima looked at least a decade younger and much thinner, hair cut short and jagged around her chin. He was surprised by the hard set of her face in the small photo — despite her youth, her eyes burnt with anger at the injustice of being subjected to something so shameful.

Ben skimmed over the basic information — known aliases (none), her birthday, height, weight, eye colour and ethnicity — instead scrolling down to the section on her last known address.

1138 Skywalker Street — he knew of it, because it was a street named after his grandfather, who had done something or other during his time as mayor. She lived pretty far out, though, and it would take a while to get there.

Ben hadn’t even begun to debate whether going to Miss Niima’s house was a bad idea before his mind was already set, common sense firmly deactivated. He snapped his laptop shut and made his way back downstairs, his forehead clammy and throat beginning to itch once more. The timer began to beep, and Ben quickly made his way into the kitchen where he promptly removed the hot, freshly baked banana bread from the oven. He juggled it into a large Tupperware container, his thought processes not backed by reason anymore, but instinct — he’d take it to Miss Niima as an offering. Hopefully she’d like it enough to let him stay.


	3. three.

Walking to Miss Niima’s house took Ben just over an hour on foot. He would have driven but he was still only on his learners permit because both his parents were too busy to ever take him on lessons. He had gotten his learners permit at sixteen, like everyone else, but barely had even thirty hours’ worth of driving experience down in his logbook — he had gone on a couple of lessons with an accredited instructor through a driving school but those were expensive and the last time he had asked his mum for cash she had gotten all huffy, saying she could take him driving. But she never did, and Ben had gradually stopped caring.

Miss Niima lived right on the outskirts of town and her small property was bordered on by the local state forest. The gravel of her driveway crunched under his shoes and he shifted the still warm banana bread under his arm as he took in the house. The Tupperware container had steamed somewhat from the heat the bread had been giving off — he hoped it wouldn’t make it gross or soggy.

Her house was small — weatherboard with a worn green corrugated iron roof. There was a small porch out front with a single pot plant by the door. It was half dead and Ben frowned, placing the banana bread down at the top step. He decided to leave it there while he went to circle the building — he needed to make sure it was suitable and safe. Ben walked around the side of the house — one large window revealed a living room through only half shut blinds that looked seldom lived in. There was a TV and single worn couch. No photos on the walls, no knickknacks or decorations to indicate Miss Niima had any sort of personal life. He walked to the back of the house — there was a small frosted glass window that he couldn’t see though that he assumed was the bathroom — a back door, which was locked, and a laundry window besides it — the floors were tiled and there was a sink and washing machine and Ben could make out the kitchen beyond the laundry door. He continued to the other side of the house — there was another large window and he audibly keened, pressing himself up against the glass at the sight of the large queen-sized bed inside. The sheets were plain white and strewn about messily. Miss Niima had left for work without re-making her bed. There was a wardrobe made of dark wood and on top was what Ben thought must have been a jewellery box. His mouth was full of saliva again and he warbled. It would smell so good in there; he just knew it. All he wanted was to be inside, curled up in that bed. He tried the window, but it was locked and he keened once more, miserable.

Ben froze, expression twisting as he fought back the bizarre emotions raging within him. Disgusted at himself and thoroughly creeped out by his own behaviour, Ben pushed himself away from the bedroom window with no small amount of difficulty and marched himself back to the front of the house. He sat down on the top step and placed the banana bread on his lap before crossing his arms tightly across his chest as he willed himself to stay put. The urge to go back and start circling the house once more was potent but he staved it off, grinding his teeth down.

 _Don’t be a creep, don’t be a weirdo._ Ben repeated over and over in his head. _Wait, just wait. Don’t move and wait. She’ll be back soon._

* * *

The sound of tyres rolling across loose gravel jolted Ben into wakefulness — he had dozed off, body slumped over the banana bread. Almost immediately he was acutely aware of how sweaty and feverish he felt – anxiety swirled in his stomach to the point he felt nauseas. The car that approached the house up the narrow driveway he had walked only a few hours earlier slowed before coming to a complete stop and Ben twitched at the sound of the driver side door opening and then slamming shut with what he could tell was considerable force.

“What are you doing here?”

Miss Niima’s voice, despite her apparent rage, was an immediate balm to his frayed nerves and Ben automatically stood up, Tupperware container clutched in his hands. Miss Niima marched towards him, heeled boots crunching.

“I brought you banana bread.” Ben offered meekly once she was standing right before him, her eyes blazing.

“Why are you at my house?!” Miss Niima practically snarled and Ben made a strange, high pitched sound at the back of his throat at her obvious anger. Miss Niima jerked back, eyes wide. “I was right— you are an omega” she said, more to herself than to him. “I told you to go to the doctor!” She spat abruptly, anger apparently renewed. “Go home, get away from me — and go see a doctor, like I told you!”

“I wanted to talk to you!” Ben half wailed. “I searched up the medication you gave me and—”

Miss Niima rounded on him, her unadulterated alpha rage unleashed on him full force. “And what? You decided the best course of action was to come and see me?!? I gave you that pill because I had a feeling you were presenting — it was to buy you time to get to a doctor before you went into heat!”

“I can’t let anyone know!” Ben wailed, for real this time. He was thoroughly overwhelmed and to his own horror began to cry. “My mum will disown me — my dad will kill me! I don’t want to have to register on the ADL and live the rest of my life under surveillance! This is going to ruin my life and I don’t know what to do!” He broke down, shuddering.

Miss Niima was silent.

“I feel very bad right now and I’m having a lot of awful thoughts.” Ben managed to get out between his sobs. Then, as an afterthought: “P-please take the banana bread.” He thrust the container out towards her.

For several seconds Miss Niima didn’t move and Ben’s anxiety worsened. Then, finally, she reached out with a defeated sigh and took the container. Something deep within him settled contentedly once she took it — satisfied and pleased something he had offered to the angry alpha woman had been deemed worthy.

“This doesn’t mean I’m accepting you.” Her voice was hard, then she sighed again. “You can come in, but only for a little bit.”

Ben wiped his runny nose on the back of his sleeve and Miss Niima gave him a disgusted look as she unlocked the door for him but didn’t comment.

* * *

The inside of Miss Niima’s house smelt too good — Ben’s brain temporarily short circuited when he entered. Immediately his thoughts went back to the bed he had seen earlier and he had to fight off the urge to go off to find her bedroom.

“Come in here” Miss Niima commanded. Ben followed obediently and sat down at the small circular kitchen table she pointed to — Miss Niima placed the banana bread down beside him then turned from the room and disappeared back down the hallway. For several moments Ben was left alone fidgeting. The desire to get up and wander the halls returned full force and for a moment Ben rose from the chair — _no, no, don’t. She wouldn’t like that._ He sat back down firmly.

Miss Niima walked back into the kitchen and smacked her palm down on the table in front of Ben— he jumped at the sound. When she removed her hand, there was another small single pill compartment cut from a blister pack. “Take it. Being around an unmedicated male omega is difficult for me.”

Ben fumbled with the pill but managed to take it, swallowing dry like the day before. Miss Niima nodded to herself before turning once more, this time towards the kitchen counter — she picked up her kettle and went over to the sink. “How do you like your tea?”

Ben blinked. “Uh, with a little milk?”

Miss Niima filled the kettle and then rummaged around in a cupboard above her head, pulling two mugs and teabags from a box as the water came to the boil. The kettle beeped and she poured the freshly boiled water into the mugs, letting the teabags steep for a minute before tossing them in the bin and adding the milk, which she returned to the fridge before returning to the table.

“Thank you.” Ben mumbled as she walked back over to the bench — she opened the top drawer nearest to her and pulled out a knife, perhaps to stab him with. Ben shook the thought away as she retrieved two plates and turned back towards him.

“Cut a slice.” Miss Niima said simply in reference to the banana bread. Ben took the knife from her gingerly and did as he was bid, carefully placing the slices down onto the plates she had provided. Miss Niima pulled a plate across the table and he watched, transfixed, as she took a bite, chewed and then swallowed. She offered neither critique or praise — instead, she picked up her mug of tea and took a sip.

“Is— is it good? Is it okay?” The anxious part of Ben that he wasn’t used to spoke on his behalf.

“It’s fine.” Miss Niima replied. Not good, not bad. For now, that would have to be enough. Satisfied, but only just, Ben picked up his own slice and took a bite. It was good, at least in his opinion. She was just being hard to please; a typical female alpha.

Ben swallowed thickly. “Where are you getting the medication from?”

Miss Niima took another bite of the banana bread, taking her time before answering. “I have a friend who works in pharmacy.”

“Can they supply me, under the table?” Ben asked.

Miss Niima frowned into her mug. “They could, but it’s risky for all involved.”

“What about if I go to a doctor?”

“You’ll receive a script for suppressants, so at least you’ll be getting them legally.” Miss Niima said sharply, but then sighed. “You’ll have to register on the ADL, that can’t be avoided. Your life… is going to change. You just need to accept that things will be harder for you from now on. Relationships, education, work… as an aberrant a lot of that is determined by the view’s others hold. You’re basically at the bottom of the societal pyramid.”

Ben had begun shaking his head in denial halfway through Miss Niima’s explanation. “No, no I don’t want any of that.”

Miss Niima raised an eyebrow at his obvious panic. “Do you think any aberrant does?” She huffed. “You need to make up your mind — either you go to your doctor and start medicating legally, or you find other means to keep your designation under wraps.” She pulled another five pills from her pocket. “Take these every day, at the same time. You have five days to come to terms with this new reality of yours and make up your mind.”

Ben reached across the table to take the pills. It couldn’t be denied that they had an almost instantaneous effect — he wasn’t feeling quite so high-strung and the persistent nagging in his head that had been demanding that he go lurk around Miss Niima’s house had settled into the background, manageable and for the most part ignorable.

Miss Niima stood up and Ben’s eyes were immediately on her. She looked down at him and he hunched down into his seat, feeling defensive.

“I want you to go now.”

For a moment Ben almost opened his mouth to argue — _no, I won’t go, I’m going to stay right here with you_ — but he back-pedalled quickly. His thoughts were all churned up and wrong because of whatever the hell his body was going through and he had to get a grip. He couldn’t just let himself go off the rails because of hormones. Ben took a deep breath in an attempt to clear his brain and nodded, pushing himself upright.

“Okay. Thanks, thank you Miss Niima. Sorry for showing up unannounced, I wasn’t thinking straight.” Standing up, their roles were reversed and he was the one looking down on her — _so small, so soft and warm, so easy to snatch right up and—_

Ben forced the thoughts in his head into silence. Miss Niima had an odd look on her face, as though she knew just what it was he was thinking. Ben felt guilty all over again.

“Be careful, Ben.” Miss Niima said, her voice a low warning.

“Okay.” Ben repeated numbly. There was a lot to be cautious of — he just wasn’t sure just what it was Miss Niima was referring to.


	4. four.

Ben had always thought of himself as a reasonably well adjusted human being — perhaps a little prone to outbursts of anger when he was feeling particularly high strung, and like any teenager he was moody on occasion, but he had never truly experienced any extended bouts of emotional instability.

At least not until now. There was a nervous tension he couldn’t seem to shake — it was a feeling he was positive that was exacerbated by the effects of his surging hormones and the suppressants warring within him— Ben had never been particularly self conscious but now even the slightest glance in his direction made the skin on the back of his neck rise and the hair on his arms prickle with discomfort. _Don’t look, don’t look at me._ It was a persistent nagging fear that plagued him no matter where he went. He felt nervous and insecure, paranoia eating away at him no matter what he did. It was an entirely new experience for him, to be nauseas even at a sideways glance in his direction.

“Hey, Solo, are you okay?”

Ben jumped in his seat, whirling towards the source of the question. Hux was looking at him with a strange look on his face — a mixture of irritation, confusion, and concern.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Ben managed to get out. The skin of his face felt hot and tight, prickling as though someone was randomly running needles across sections of his exposed flesh.

Hux frowned, red hair stark against his pale skin. “You’ve been acting weird for the past two days.”

Ben swallowed thickly, Adams apple bobbing. Of course he had been acting weird — his entire life as he knew it had come to an end, replaced by something hazy and uncertain. The memory of Miss Niima’s mugshot-like photo on the National Aberrant List, taken when she was probably no older than him now, flashed abruptly at the forefront of Ben’s mind. Her small, pretty face, lightly freckled and framed by her dark brown hair, twisted by the cold, closed off expression she wore, anger clear in the hardened edges of her eyes.

Would he be subjected to the same fate?

“I just had some family shit come up.” Ben lied, forcing the memory of Miss Niima’s face from his mind.

Hux huffed, turning away from him. “Oh, okay. Well I hope it works out for you. You’ve been getting on my nerves with how absent minded you’ve been lately.”

Ben forced a laugh. “Sorry, I’ll work on it.”

* * *

Ben did not work on it.How could he? He could barely think straight — even in the calmest of moments, the persistent anxiety that now plagued him would render him mute, mouth so dry he felt as though he had swallowed a mouthful of sand. He felt as if there was a ball of lead lodged in his chest that radiated pain to the tips of his fingers. There was a vice around his lungs — if he even began to try and sort through his feelings his breaths would become shallow and strained as his mind whirled incoherently, panic induced sweat beading across his forehead and shoulders. Worst of all were other people — walking the hallways of his school had become a nauseating process that left him feeling dizzy and on the verge of gagging on an all too frequent basis. Other people had become Ben’s personal hell — their voices were too loud and grating, their scents all twisted and wrong. The more they spoke, the closer they passed by, the more Ben felt as though he would throw up across the floor.

He couldn’t live like this, he simply couldn’t.

“Mister Solo.”

Ben shuddered at the sound of Miss Niima’s voice — it cut through the haze of pain, clearing his mind temporarily. He looked up at her, standing at the front of her classroom, and could scarcely believe what had transpired in the last forty-eight hours between them. He swallowed thickly, struggling to string together his thoughts into an answer. She spoke before he could —

“The lunch bell rung five minutes ago.” Her eyebrows rose as she took in the sight of him, hunched at his too-small desk, then, so fast that he almost missed it, her eyes flicked to the door as if she were checking that therewas no one near enough to overhear. “I’d like for you go to the sick bay. Skip you last period class. You look on the verge of passing out.”

It wasn’t an order, per se, but the strange new part of Ben’s brain surged to please her. He scrambled up, vision swirling for a moment as he shovelled his belongings back into his backpack. “Okay. Yes. Okay I’ll go.” He barely even registered the fact that he was making a spectacle of himself. He made his way up to her desk, narrowly avoiding stumbling over his own feet.

“Take this.” Miss Niima instructed as she extended a note to him, probably for him to give to the school nurse so no one would ask any questions.

Their fingers brushed and Ben’s vision tunnelled — _he needed this forever, if he could just have her, he would never feel awful ever again, he just had to make her his, to claim her and make it so she could never leave his side_ —

“Mister Solo.” Miss Niima’s voice was sharp with warning. “If you’re planning of throwing up I’d appreciate if you did it in the bathroom, rather than here across my classroom.”

Ben knew to read between the lines — what she said did not match what she truly meant: _Watch yourself, don’t be obvious. One slip up and there’s no going back._ Ben sucked in a breath — but he could taste her on the air, so sweet and soothing — _Bite her. She’ll taste even better when you bite her._

Miss Niima’s small hand shot out, snakelike, curving around the back of his neck and strong fingers pressing down on the side of his neck. It was some sort of pressure point Ben had not known existed — Miss Niima’s grasp was cold and sharp and a shiver ran from the top of Ben’s head all the way to the tips of his toes, his vision whiting out in bliss.

“Have you been taking the medicine?” Miss Niima hissed, face drawing near.

Ben’s mind cleared at the precise moment he started to get hard. Oh no. Oh no, no, no. He squirmed, flushing, but Miss Niima’s grip did not slacken.

“Y-yes, I have.” Ben stuttered. His pants felt too tight — and the pressure Miss Niima was applying to his neck had rewired his brain so that for the first time since this mess had started he could think clearly — which somehow made everything worse because he was fully aware of how bad the situation was: he was hard and it was because a female alpha had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. That fact that this female alpha just so happened to be his history teacher was simply the cherry on top.

Miss Niima seemed oblivious to Ben’s plight as her eyebrows furrowed. Almost more to herself than to him, she spoke: “You shouldn’t be presenting so obviously now that you’re taking meds. Something isn’t right. It’s almost like—” she trailed off, eyes widening for a moment.

“Miss Niima—“ Ben’s voice came out a whine. “P-please let me go.”

Ben attempted to pull the front of his school sweater down over the bulge in his pants — the movement didn’t go unnoticed by his history teacher — her eyes swept down once then straight back up when she realised what was going on. _Oh God, why was this happening?_ The mortification Ben felt in that moment was akin to having a piano dropped down onto him from a great height. Puberty as an early teenager had already been a humiliating enough of an affair for him — presenting now as a Demi-human at the age of eighteen was beyond the scope of Ben's comprehension. All he wanted was for the floor to swallow him up to spare him the shame he currently felt.

“Oh.” Miss Niima said simply, letting go of his neck. “Sorry.”

As soon as she released the pressure she had been applying, the haze began to descend once more over Ben’s mind. His mouth felt thick and his tongue heavy, unable to shape the words he so desperately wanted to speak.

“I— I need to go now.” Ben half choked. He tripped over his feet in his haste to get out of the room. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore — To pin her down somewhere where she couldn’t leave him? Cry? Bite her?

His thoughts whirled sickeningly once more as he lurched from the room. He had to run. He had to get away from all this.


End file.
